IN THERE: A PREACCIDENTS HAPPEN STORY
by FotoBridgeT2
Summary: My take on the events of Minimal Loss, and tying them to my story Accidents Happen. Not fully necessary to read that one to understand. Prentiss/Hotch of course.


IN THERE

**MY FIFTIETH STORY POSTED ON FANFICTION!**

(OK, SO I CHANGED ACCIDENTS HAPPEN TO BETTER FIT THE CURRENT SHOW TIMELINE, AND I TWEAKED AROUND WITH 'MINIMAL LOSS'—ONE OF THE MOST AWESOME EPISODES YET!—AND Yes, I am still suffering from writer's block on almost ALL my other stories…thank goodness for fanfiction…)

He couldn't go in there. She—_they—_were in there, and he couldn't get to her. Protocol said that because he was emotionally involved, he couldn't go in there.

Dave didn't know the truth of it. Didn't know the half of it.

Hotch couldn't go in there because it was _her _in there. Because of what he wanted to do to her, because of how he felt about her. About what they'd done together less than four weeks ago in Salt Lake City. Because he'd had her around him, with him, touching him, kissing him, holding him.

And now she was in there. With just Reid for backup. And he couldn't do a damned thing about it, just stand back and hope that the damned Bureau protocol and standard operating procedure would prove to be their saving grace. That somehow, the textbook he and Dave had helped co-write would bring them—_her—_out of that damned compound.

He wanted nothing more than to rush up to that door, guns and whatever else be damned, and carry her out of there. Instead, he settled for throwing that damn political-mongering state attorney general off the scene. What he wanted to do was lash out, physically show him and everybody around them the anger burning up his insides.

But once again Aaron Hotchner controlled himself. So he'd asked the one other person he'd trust with _her _life to take point. Because he couldn't do it. Then he'd sat back and waited for Dave to return from delivering those supplies. But Dave had said he'd seen her, that she'd appeared fine. So far unharmed. Her and Reid.

Then he had to listen to that bastard speaking of poisoning the wine. And he didn't know if _they _had been forced to drink the wine, too. If she was in there, knowing the wine would soon kill her. What she would have been going through. He'd wanted nothing more than to run to her, and he'd taken off his headphones with that very intention.

But Dave's words had stopped him, reminding him that it didn't fit. Reminding him to use his mind instead of his heart. He'd tried, and somewhat succeeded.

And then JJ had come running up, bringing the news that Cyrus knew he had the FBI inside his sanctum. Hotch would never forget the sounds she'd made when that bastard had been hurting her. He'd heard her cries, heard her whimpers of pain. He'd stood there, with Morgan and Dave, and his whole body had shook, just the way it had when Jack had had his first ear infection at the age of nine months and his temperature had spiked over one hundred and four. He'd been just as helpless back then as he was standing outside that compound.

He had a brief thought back to that night in Salt Lake City, hoped fervently that if there _had _been consequences of that night, somehow, someway, that little consequence survived what Cyrus was doing to her. Tears filled his eyes and he fought to keep them from falling. His breath stuttered but no one noticed. Her sounds had drowned out his one lone sob.

Only _her _words had stopped him from heedlessly rushing in. Hers, not Dave's. He'd known she was telling _him _to stay calm, that she could take it, that _he _had to do what needed to be done. That her pain, her _life, _had not been worth risking every other life in that compound. She had to have known he was listening, and she'd tried her best to communicate with him.

It was in _that _moment that Hotch fell in love with the whole package she represented. Even in her worst hour, she was an agent through and through, willing to do whatever she had to in order to protect those she considered innocent. She was calm, strong, intelligent, and perfect for him. And separated from him by several stone walls, and gun-carrying fanatics, and every damned Search&Rescue SOP he knew.

He heard her sobbing when the bastard was done. And he had a mental picture of her lying on a cold floor, bruised and bloody, and wondering how much longer she could hold on. He wondered if she had faith in him, knew he would die himself if it meant that she not have to feel one more blow from that man; if she trusted he'd get her out, somehow, someway?

Or was she lying in there thinking he'd consider her dying as part of a minimal loss scenario. Not desirable, but acceptable. God, not that. Never that.

"I'll get you out, sweetheart," He whispered the words while standing and staring at the compound as darkness begin to fall. He closed his eyes for a moment, as he could have sworn he heard the strains of bright carnival music in his head. He shook it off, knowing it was only the residuals of a Salt Lake street carnival where he'd been happy taunting him. He knew the power fear could have even on the strongest of minds. And his wasn't strong, not anymore. He wasn't aware of Dave moving up behind him until he felt the older man's shoulder bump his. Hotch didn't know if Dave had heard his words, and frankly, he didn't care.

They spoke a moment, though Hotch wasn't really all that sure what was said. All he remembered hearing was "You're not alone."

But she was. Now. He knew she was separated even from Reid. Lying somewhere in that damned compound, hands tied, body hurting. Waiting for him to come save her.

But it wasn't him that saved her. It was her. Reid. Morgan. Dave, but mostly _her. _She hadn't needed him, not really. But through it all, he'd realized one thing: he needed her. Desperately.

He'd never forget that.

On the plane home he heard her talk to Reid. Heard her say she'd do it all over again if she had to; he knew she meant it, but it didn't help with his own guilt.

_He'd _failed her—and Reid, of course—from the very get-go. But mostly her. Somehow, someway, he'd have to make it up to her.

Her words from that morning after had played in his head as he'd watched her hug Reid, then JJ, Morgan, and Dave. He kept a careful distance between them, though it was hard. She hadn't looked at him, not really. Not since he'd seen her running with the crowd of followers from the building. He respected her unstated wishes. He didn't touch her. Just turned and walked away, to do his job. To see it that everything was made as right as he could get. He turned, throwing one last glance at her over his shoulder, eyes finally meeting hers, as those Salt Lake City early morning words repeated in his head, "It was one of those things. We both know that sex is a way for people to affirm they are alive. Be it good or bad, right or wrong—everybody needs it sometimes. Let's not make mountains out of molehills. It stays between us, and we won't do it again. But there's nothing wrong with what we did, and even the Bureau _discourages _against it, but cannot forbid it. I'm ok, Hotch. No strings. The BAU is a tough place…and strings of this kind…well, we both know there's no room for them in the BAU….not in there."

He had to respect her obvious wishes. Though, _God, _those wishes were the exact opposite of his.

And he knew the best way to make it up to her for him failing to protect her from Cyrus…was by leaving her alone. Pretending Salt Lake City never happened.

No matter how he might have wished it differently.

**Angsty, I know, but they work it out in Accidents Happen--please review!**


End file.
